So I Guess Sushi's Out?
by dochar ar bith ann
Summary: Warning: may not be finished. The rescue of Randall Boggs led to a number of things, none of which were entirely expected. A tale of jazz, stubbornness, guilt, insults, tension, unpleasant memories, pleasant surprises, weakness, strength, and coffee.
1. Falling Down

Hi, all! This is a story I started half a year ago, with the intent of posting it when it was all finished, and didn't get as far as I would have liked in. Unfortunately, within the last few months, I've found myself rather stuck. So I thought I'd post what I have so far- maybe reviews will get me writing again.

Special thanks to my excellent beta readers over at the Boggs board, Remy, Veg and Blackbird2319. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Tzeitel and Alexx. They are OCs, and they are mine, but the rest of it belongs to Pixar.

And without further ado...

So I Guess Sushi's Out?  
A Monsters, Inc. fic

Chapter one;  
Falling Down

_"You forget all the roses, don't come around on sunday  
She's not gonna choose you for standing so tall  
Go on and take a swig of that poison and like it  
And don't ask for silverware, don't ask for nothing  
Go on and put your ear to the ground  
You know you'll be hearing that sound...falling down.  
You're falling down, falling down  
Falling down, falling down, falling down_

_When you're falling down, falling down, falling down_

_Go on down and see that wrecking ball come swinging on along  
Everyone knew that hotel was a goner  
They broke all the windows, they took all the door knobs  
And they hauled it away in a couple of days  
Now someone yell timber and take off your hat  
It all looks smaller down here on the ground  
You're falling down, falling down, falling down  
Falling down, falling down, falling down._

_Someone's falling down, falling down, falling down  
Falling down, falling down, falling down."_

_-Tom Waits, Falling Down_

_-----------------_

The swamp was relatively silent at this time of night. The hunting dogs had all retired for the day, and the frogs were, fortunately enough, not in mating season, so the only sound was the low buzz of half a million mosquitoes.

Well, that and a soft groan that drifted out into the night as the bog's most unhappy occupant awoke.

Randall's eyes cracked open, sending a stab of pain through the open gash on his forehead. Breathing hard to fight the pain, he lifted himself up on the one arm that still served its function, feeling it shake under him. Suddenly a wave of nausia hit him like a brick wall, and his arm gave way.

He let out a gasp of pain as his chest hit the swamp earth, sending agony lancing through his ribs. "Nnghh..." he moaned, tasting blood and bile in his mouth.

His vision blurred and a sob escaped his lips. _Get up. Get up before it gets hot and you lose another day's hunting,_ he screamed at himself, but his limbs refused to move. With a deep breath, he summoned up his willpower and lifted himself up.

Only to fall back into the dirt again.

Tears of frustration slid down his cheeks as his gnawing hunger battled the pain he was in. _Come on, Randall. Gotta get up to get food. Gotta get food to keep up strength, heal up, get outta here!_

At last, with a tremendous shove that jarred his ribs very nastily, he managed to prop himself gracelessly up onto his legs. From there it was easier; only one of his legs had been substantially injured. It gave him an awkward limp, but at least he could walk. Wiping his good hand across his face, he peered around, looking for anything that would still be sluggish at this cool time of day

There- a frog, sleeping in the shade of a large leaf. Clenching his eyes shut in concentration, Randall let his scales fade to match the dull browns and violent greens of the Bayou swamp. Good; at least his third eye was working, for now, anyway.

Crouching down as low as he could without going on all eights, he crept closer to the frog and calculated his next move. A lunge seemed like the best idea- try to catch it unawares.

But just as he leapt forward, he felt a sharp tug- somehow, a swamp vine had twisted itself around his tail, cutting painfully into one of his worst bruises. He scrabbled to untangle himself, his one usable arm making little headway and considerable noise. And the frog hopped away.

Randall let out a strangled cry, ending in a small wimper as he slumped to the ground. His green eyes slid closed.

---

Sulley trudged through the Bayou muck, Mike bobbing along beside him like an annoyed green balloon.

"If this all goes haywire, then I'm gonna hate to say I told you so, but I'm gonna dang well say it anyway!" Mike warned.

Sulley sighed. "Just knock it off, will you? This needs to be done."

"Well yeah but... Sull...Why us?" Mike whimpered.

"We saw him last."

Mike folded his arms. "Okay, I'm gonna say it one last time. This. Is. Nuts. We are _risking our lives_ for a guy who..." he petered off, glowering. "I don't even have a word for it. He's a creep! Plain and simple!"

Sulley stopped walking and turned to face his best friend. "Look, I'm not happy about it either, but with the press getting involved over the energy switch, somebody's going to bring him up sooner or later. We did banish him illegally," Sulley reminded him, hiding the stab of guilt that lanced through him.

Mike threw up his hands in an over-dramatic gesture. "I know, I know. Look, can we just get it _over _with?"

Sulley returned to the search, attempting to focus on his task. The only sound apart from the squish of their feet in the bog earth was the whine of the mosquitoes, but Mike's irritation was palpable in the air.

Truth be told, Sulley was almost as unhappy with his present situation as Mike clearly was. But his reasons were very different. He wouldn't have wanted to admit it, but this little "trip" to the Bayou had very little to do with legalities- as the CEO of Monsters Inc., he could sidestep such factors with little trouble. This trip had more to do with guilt.

Two weeks ago, he would never have considered this little journey. Two weeks ago, he'd been a relatively happy, successful CEO, quite content to forget about the issue of Randall Boggs. His mind had been far too focused on missing Boo to worry about such things. But the resurrection of her door had done away with that worry and replaced it with others.

Boo had started it, really. She'd brought it back to him, anyway. On his second trip through her pieced-together door, she'd brought him a stack of paper and a few crayons and he'd spent at least an hour with her, colouring, though his drawings were little better than her own. And just as before, she'd drawn him, and Mike ("Miiiike Wazowski!"), and herself, and Watenoose and Celia and everything else she could remember. And then she'd drawn Randall.

The drawing had made him laugh, at first. It clumsily depicted everyone's least favourite lizard monster being tossed through a door by a pretty decent attept at Sulley. Boo had yelled out a war cry of, "Take dat, bad lizawd! Beat youuuu!" as she'd shown it to him, and he'd been tempted to join her until he'd noticed the curious expression on the stick-figure Randall's face.

He had no clue how she'd captured it so vividly, and sometimes he was sure he'd imagined it, but the look in Randall's Lime Green crayoned eyes had been one of pure agony.

It had been more than enough to kick-start his conscience. He'd agonized for days over it- where was Randall now? Was he even still _alive_? He'd tried to tell himself, over and over again, that Randall was an evil creep and that he wasn't worth worrying about, but the guilt had just kept niggling away at his mind. Once or twice he'd even imagined, in the past, having seen that same look of suffering in the real Randall's eyes. So, at long last, he'd arranged this search.

Suddenly, a strangled yell pierced the heavy swamp air.

Sulley snapped out of his reverie, jumping a foot into the air. "Wha-"

Mike, rattled out of his pout, rubbed his brow with an anxious hand. "What in the name of-"

Something connected in Sulley's head. "You don't suppose...that was _him_?"

The green cyclops' mouth dropped open. "It came from over there," he said in hushed tones, pointing just to the left of the trail.

Sulley nodded and they quickened their pace, skirting the edge of the trail as they peered into the bog, searching for signs of life among the mossy trees.

There- a small clearing, up ahead, and a hint of purple scales. Quite low to the ground. Sulley waved Mike forward, his footsteps as quick and silent as his size allowed. "Come on!" he hissed.

Mike looked up at him, annoyed, but said nothing. At last, they approached the edge of the clearing, peeking from behind twisted tree trunks, trying to get a look at their "quarry" of sorts. Mike craned on his spindly legs, more anxious than he would have cared to admit.

First nothing but trees, moss and ever-present muck. Sulley shifted a curtain of strange vines, and then...

There he was. A battered, folded purple form lying carelessly on the filthy earth, fronds wilting, limbs sticking out at purely unnatural angles. The monster they'd faced so many days ago, now only a shadow of his former self.

Sulley heard Mike gasp. Tentatively, he took a step forward, branches snapping under his weight. Randall didn't stir.

His eyes riveted to the figure in front of him, he took another step, and another. Still there was no reaction. Now fairly sure the monster was unconscious, Sulley rushed to his side, waving Mike over with him.

Randall looked terrible. His scales were a pale lavender, pallid and sickly-looking, and bruises crisscrossed them like paint on a canvas. An angry gash stretched across his forehead, leaking a small trickle of clear fluid. Sulley bit his lip, wondering how he should lift him without causing him pain.

Mike approached the two of them. "I guess this isn't good," he said carefully.

"No," Sulley replied quietly. Very carefully, he reached out and touched Randall's side, half-expecting him to leap up, hissing at them.

Randall only groaned slightly, shuddering away from Sulley's paw. Sulley pulled his claws back instinctively, suddenly inexplicably wary of waking him.

Mike's eye widened. "Think he's asleep?" he whispered.

"That or unconscious," Sulley replied, steeling his nerves. Taking a deep breath, he shifted both paws under Randall's torso, lifting him up in as smooth and gentle a way as he could. Randall shifted and moaned slightly, but didn't open his eyes.

He was lighter than Sulley had anticipated. He turned back to the path, waving for Mike to follow him. Mike seemed to have perceived the seriousness of the situation, and said nothing, heading after his best friend with a hurried tread.

Sulley walked as quickly as he could without jarring the lizard monster in his arms, but each step felt painfully slow. He was suddenly extremely uncomfortable- with the situation, with his surroundings, with his cargo. The thought that he was carrying, _physically carrying_, the monster he'd been attempting to forget about for days, the monster he'd spent weeks battling against in the race to be top scarer, the one he'd antagonized so much and blamed so much crap on, set his hair on end. He had to make a conscious effort not to stare at the thin, battered frame in his arms, not to wonder at how this poor, pathetic creature had once been his rival.

Soon they were back on the path, the special door they'd had erected just visible around a bend in the road. Which was good. It gave Sulley something else to think about. "Mike," he began in a slightly hushed tone, "Run on ahead and tell them we're going to need an ambulance right away."

Mike nodded, for once not protesting to being ordered around, and scrabbled ahead at top speed.

Randall shifted again in Sulley's arms. His eyelids fluttered slightly but did not lift. _Don't wake up, _Sulley found himself praying, _I can't handle it yet._

The door to Monstropolis opened, and a lime green, spherical form peeked out. "It's on its way," Mike called, "Should be here in about fifteen minutes."

Sulley nodded, worried that yelling a reply would wake Randall. Mike disappeared behind the door, leaving it open for his friend.

It seemed very far away, but at last Sulley slipped through it, entering his own private office. Without waiting for a reaction from the three monsters already within, he carried Randall to the couch he'd had put in on the far side of the room, draping him as gently over it as he could. Randall's tail flopped over one end, just touching the floor, and for an instant Sulley had to marvel at just how very long the lizard monster was. But only an instant.

Celia gasped. "Oh, my God- that's not really _him_, is it?" she asked fearfully, clutching Mike's hand.

She'd really never been that bright.

"You were right to call an ambulance. This guy looks terrible," said Alexx, Sulley's new secretary. Alexx was technically too young to be employed as a secretary, but the squid-like monster, one of the technology-crazed A-students from Monstropolis High, was simply too good at what he did to be questioned. Even if he was a little disrespectful at times, he made up for it with genuine loyalty. He'd arranged for the special door to the Louisiana swamp, so it was him they had to thank for not having to use any other trailer closets.

Celia took one uneasy step forward. "What- what could have happened to him?"

Sulley bit his lip. "Well... The door we, um, banished him through had a danger rating of almost six. It doesn't normally get higher than five."

"Urgh," Alexx muttered, crawling in for a closer look at the monster on the couch. "He doesn't look anything like the Randall from the company play. Are you sure casting Needleman was the best idea? If I were this guy I'd be insulted."

A look of childish guilt crossed Mike's face. "Yeah, well...Nobody else wanted the part," he lied.

Randall shifted again, letting out a hoarse moan.

"He's not gonna wake up, is he?" Alexx asked.

"We found him unconscious, but we'd heard a yell or something about two minutes before that," Sulley replied, suddenly completely unsure of what it meant.

"What kind of a yell?"

"Um, sort of like a yell of frustration," Sulley said, scratching his neck. "It was definitely his voice. And when we found him, he was like this."

Alexx frowned. "Well, with these kinds of injuries, I guess he could faint if he over-exerted himself."

Sulley nodded. That made sense, at least. "Is there anything we should- you know, should we cover him up or something before the ambulance comes?"

If Alexx had had shoulders, he would have shrugged them. "No idea, boss. Not really one of the areas of my expertise. I'd say leave him be."

"You're probably right." Sulley took a long look at the figure on the sofa. There was something unnerving about the picture, something he couldn't quite account for. He half-expected Randall to wake up at any moment, tell them all to stop gawping at him and frig off, and then walk away, perfectly unharmed.

"We'll tell you when the ambulance comes," Celia offered, and she and Alexx wandered off, unable to take much more time out of their busy schedules.

Sulley glanced at Mike, and then at Randall. There was a long silence.

"Hard to believe that's him," Mike said vaguely, at long last. "Can you imagine if he was awake? He'd be at our throats." He let out a snort of laughter, wandering off in pursuit of Celia.

Sulley glanced over, watching him leave, then looked back at Randall. Was that it? Was that what was so weird, seeing Randall when he wasn't being nasty?

No. That wasn't right. He'd seen Randall being decent loads of times- never really to him, but to Fungus, on a few occasions, and a few others mons- and it had never seemed that weird then.

No, that wasn't it at all. He frowned, his eyes falling on the leaking gash on Randall's forehead.

An image suddely filled his mind- enough to make him wince with guilt. Himself, Randall's neck and torso clasped between his fists, preparing for a throw. Mike, crouched before the door, yelling encouragements like an enthusiastic baseball coach. Randall, ashen-faced, calling out a pleading, "No, no, no...!"

It hit him, suddenly, with all the clarity of fine crystal. Randall looked... vulnerable. Except for that one moment, in which he'd taken about as much notice as a brick wall, he'd never, ever seen Randall appear vulnerable. In fact, the lizard monster probably would have done anything to _avoid_ appearing vulnerable. Unless it didn't matter anymore.

The distant sound of a siren shook him from his thoughts. Alexx poked his bulbous head through the door.

"The ambulance is here. Shall I show them in?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, there's the first installment. You shall be getting some updates quite soon; I have the first three or four chapters written, but I need to get them edited.

Please review! Especially given that reviews are probably the only thing that will get me back to work on this. Please, details and suggestions if you have any. I know the title is weird, but it would make sense after a while if I had the whole story done.

Flames will be used to roast coffee.

Love you all!

Till My Head Falls Off


	2. Second Best

Hi, everybody! Well, here we go, second installment. Warning; contains some swearing. But it's not that bad.

Disclaimer: I own nothin' but Allex and Tzeitel. Steal them and face my wrath.

On we go!

_---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Chapter Two

Second Best

_"I admit it's bleak  
But I'd give it a week  
Until our friends the meek give it back_

_Is it true? Well, it's true enough I guess  
Join the chorus of the second best_

_Second best_

_What's left of you that's real  
A mutated ideal  
With limited appeal, I suggest_

_Is it you? Well, it's you, enough I guess  
You're an angel in a see-through dress  
Is it true? Yes, it's true enough I guess_

_Second best_

_Perhaps it's just as well  
That I still look like hell  
At least the world can tell us apart_

_Is it true? Yes, it's true, enough I guess  
Come join the chorus of the unimpressed  
Is it true? Yes, it's true enough I guess  
Sometimes it's better to be second best."  
-Barenaked Ladies, Second Best_

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He'd dreamt of strangely familiar voices and of sad, watching eyes, all staring at him. Blue eyes full of guilt that looked hesitantly into his soul.

_"Adult male reptilian, condition critical! Severe bruising, multiple fractures, severe head trauma causing damage to the parietal eye. Nurse, get him onto the bed! And for Pete's sake be careful of that arm!"_

The world gave an unpleasant lurch. Randall opened one eye a crack, but the sun was glaring down strong and it hurt to look up. That meant it was midday. He groaned.

_"Ohmygod he's awake. Painkiller, STAT!"_

Gradually, he became aware of strange sound, voices. His ears must be playing tricks on him again. He opened his eyes, squinting to shield himself from the light.

At first, all he saw was white. Then shapes began to emerge from the pale blur.

A ceiling, plain white drywall with a few very bright lamps shining down. Very professional and clean.

A _ceiling_.

Why would there be a ceiling in the swamp?

Something brushed against his arm, and he felt a small pricking sensation. Not good. Something was biting him. Reacting on instict, he jerked his one good arm.

"Hey, easy. Don't move. It's just a painkiller."

What? He lifted his head slightly, though his neck felt like jelly, glancing in roughly the direction of the voice. Looking down on him from perhaps a foot away stood a small, female lizard monster, cocoa-brown in colour, wearing a white nurse's coat. He couldn't take in anything further about her; only that she was beautiful. Too beautiful, after ages of staring at mud.

And then everything stopped hurting. A wave of cool, sweet nothingness washed over him. For a moment it seemed like a miracle.

"That should be kicking in about now," she said reassuringly. Her voice sounded warm and golden, like sunlight. _Painkiller_, he reminded himself. _She's not an angel, idiot, she's a nurse. I'm in a hospital._

_How'd I get in a hospital? Or am I dreaming again?_

He cleared his throat, which no longer burned but still felt weird and liquidy. " 'Scuse me, but where the hell am I?" he asked. His voice sounded unpleasantly weak.

"You're in St. Ptero's Hospital, Monstropolis," she replied briskly. "Don't move."

A Doctor with at least forty very small tentacles began to bandage one of his arms. The nurse squtted down so she was on eye level with him. "What's your name?"

"Randall Boggs," he answered automatically. _I'm back in the monster world. I'm back. I'm here. Alive._

"How old are you?"

"Twenty...five." _It's over. I never have to see that Goddamn swamp again. _It felt unreal.

"What species are you?"

He quirked an eye ridge, noticing that the gash on his forhead had been bandaged up. "Reptilian, same as you. So if you can't figure it out, either you're an idiot or this is the worst hospital ever. Or both."

"These are just regulation questions to test your level of consciousness." She smirked. "You score several points for sarcasm. Well done. What's your birthday?"

"September the twenty-seventh, 1976."

She blinked her dark eyes. "What's eight times twenty-five?"

Randall scowled. "Nice thing to spring on a mon just after he wakes up. Can't we start with two times two?"

She snorted. "You look like a whole lot more than that's sprung up on you within the recent past." She softened slightly. "Don't worry about it. You've got a bit of morphine in your system; we hardly expect you to. But if you can, then go for it."

His scowl deepened. She'd challenged him. Now he had to. He still had a bit of headache, but he forced himself to focus. Eighty, a hundred and sixty... "Two hundred. Happy?"

"Yup. You're mentally fine. If a bit of a jerk," she added in a mutter, turning to bandage his hand.

He shifted slightly. The painkillers couldn't have been strong if he was this alert, and some of the pain was starting to come back after the initial euphoria. "Okay then, my turn. First, is this a dream?"

"Pheh. If this were a dream I'd be getting paid more."

That didn't sound like the sort of thing somebody would say in a dream. He shuffled through recent memory, trying to think of something that might have got him here, and came up with a big, fat blank. "Then... how did I get here? See, I wasn't really in the city-"

She held up a hand. Five-fingered, he noticed, and only one pair of arms. Her fingers looked long and strong. "I know, the swamp. Your friend told us. That's not to say I don't have any questions, but that can wait. The point is, after you fell unconscious, he found you and carried you back through the door to Monstropolis. Sounds nuts to me, but whatever."

Randall frowned, puzzled. "My friend?"

"James Sullivan. Big, hairy, blue, sheepish-looking..."

His jaw dropped. "Wha- _Sullivan? _Are you-" he began to sputter, but something caught in his throat. A raw cough came out, and then another. _Sullivan? _he screamed mentally, still coughing and gasping in an attempt to clear his throat. His chest burned.

She laid a surprisingly gentle hand on his back. The contact felt alien and strange.

Finally he forced himself to stop coughing. "That can't be right. Sullivan would be the last person... No way."

The nurse shrugged. "Well, tell that to him. He's waiting in the lobby."

It was too much. This had to be a joke. Well, he wasn't going to fall for it. "Yeah, and I guess Wazowski's with him too, eh?" he said sarcastically. The indignation made his stomach lurch.

"Uh, no, the eyeball dude left right after they arrived," she said matter-of-factly.

His insides gave another aching lurch. "Hah. Yeah, real funny. Who _actually _brought me in here?"

She scowled. "You don't believe me? I'll get him."

Randall glared. "Wha- You're _serious_? He's literally waiting outside?" A third twisting in his stomach, and he tasted acid. "Oh God," he gasped, hugging his torso with his good arm in an attempt to ease the pain.

"He can't be that bad," The nurse muttered.

"No- I think I'm going to be sick-"

In a flash she had a bowl in front of him. His stomach gave a final lurch and he vomited up a mouthful of something foul and blackish. It smelled like the swamp.

He collapsed back into the bed, panting and sputtering. His chest burned. "You're- you're sure it's him?"

She nodded, taking the bowl away. "He showed us ID and everything. Besides, I've seen him on TV."

"Oh, brilliant," he muttered. "James friggin' P. friggin' Sullivan, top friggin' scarer. Kill me now, why don't you."

She quirked an eye ridge. "Scarer? Man, you've been out of it for a while, haven't you?"

_God, what is he now, CEO? No way he could have gotten blamed, with his luck. _"I don't wanna know," he said firmly, looking away from her. _Hah. and he's probably doing this to make himself look good. Saint Sullivan, rescueing the evil lizard bad guy. Bastard. _

The nurses and doctors floating about him had mostly scattered, it seemed. The only one who remained was the doctor. "Stop annoying the patient, Muruthi," he snapped, his many tentacles busy fitting Randall's lower right arm into a specially-formed cast.

The nurse growled. "It's pronounced MOH-row-thee," she muttered

The Doctor ignored her. "He's stable. For the moment, anyway. Mr. Sullivan asked to see him."

Randall panicked. "Wh- No, I can't-" he choked.

She held out her hand as if to calm him. "Dr. Stevens, I'm not sure if that's a good idea. He's not stable. Not really. He should be sedated right now. A higher painkiller drip, if nothing else. I mean look at him." Randall swallowed the bubble of indignation, knowing he probably did look awful.

Dr. Stevens frowned. "Miss Muruthi," he said condescendingly, mispronouncing her name again, "Don't make me regret hiring you. I'm not about to make _James Sullivan_ wait just so you can save your scaly friend a little pain. We need him lucid. Get that through your lizard skull." He turned on his heel, opening the door. "I'm getting him," he said over one shoulder, slamming the door behind him.

She grabbed a few pillows from a cabinet in the corner. "Racist, kiss-ass, bigoted _bastard_," she muttered, her knuckles pale on their edges. "Acts like he's so liberal, tells everybody, 'Oh, I have reptile employees, aren't I a hero?', but once he's actually _talking _to one..." She trailed off, growling. "Lift your head. If you can."

Randall was only barely listening. He blinked and strained his neck, managing to raise his head. She jammed the pillows underneath him, propping him up. _Sullivan_. Sullivan had saved him, and now he was going to have to talk to him. Meet with the bastard who'd cost him everything, and then had the _nerve_ to rescue him.

His lips curled into a sneer. Well, if Sullivan expected him to be thankful, he was dead wrong. After all, whose fault was it he'd been stuck in that God-forsaken muckhole anyway? Sullivan's. So it was only to be expected that Sullivan should get him out. Surely.

Well, perhaps that wasn't entirely true. He'd been a real moron to trust Waternoose throughout the whole mess. Naïve and foolish and just plain idiotic. That bit was his own fault. And _Waternoose- _Waternoose had completely taken advantage of him. Even when he'd risked everything to do what he'd asked, still, Waternoose hadn't even admitted he'd been helpful. He'd nearly killed himself for that old bastard -worked till three in the morning every damned day and broken more laws than he could count- and still, _still,_ Waternoose had liked Sullivan better. _Preferred_ the weak, spineless lump. It wasn't bloody fair.

The door creaked open and Dr. Stevens opened the door, admitting a furry blue form. _Sullivan_.

Sullivan seemed shorter than he'd remembered. And the look on his face shocked Randall a bit. No winning smile. No victorious smirk. Just tired and slightly sad.

"Hey, Randall," he said softly, looking down.

Randall looked him in the eye and glared as best he could. "What are you doing here?" he asked sharply.

Sullivan bit his lip hesitantly, and Randall could see he had no good answer. "I... We, er, need your testimony to convict Waternoose," he said, somewhat defensively.

Randall chuckled slightly, as best he could without risking another coughing incident. "So you blamed the whole mess on Waternoose and me, eh?" _Hah. His favourite's selling him out. Waternoose picked the wrong one._ The thought was somehow comforting.

Sullivan scratched his neck nervously, a strange expression flitting across his face. It reminded him oddly of guilt. But that couldn't be it. "Sort of. Waternoose got arrested and the rest of it's been sort of hushed up. There are no legal records of most of what happened."

Randall scowled. "Oh, so that's how it works? When you break a law designed to keep hundreds of monsters safe it "gets hushed up", and when _I _do what my boss tells me to end the scream shortage I get chucked into Louisiana?"

Sullivan sighed slightly. "That law was only put in place to keep the human and monster worlds seperate, and you were _kidnapping children_. That's worse by a long run."

It was true, but he wasn't about to admit it. Randall struggled for something to say. "_One_ child," he said at last, unable to come up with another point, "only one child." It sounded horribly hollow. The fact that there was only one _ought_ to make it okay, but somehow, it didn't quite sound right.

"There were going to be more."

"Not necessarily," Randall snapped defensively, "Mary Dinh was the test case." He was faintly surprised he still remembered the girl's name.

"So _that's _what her real name was..." Sullivan murmured.

"One of mine. Danger level zero; lowest we could find. If the Scream Extractor had proved deadly or the memory seal hadn't worked, I was going to either remake it or try to get Waternoose to let me scrap the project. It was supposed to leave no lasting physical effects and wipe the kid's memory for about an hour. That way we could use it multiple times on one kid. But if you recall, I never got to test it," he added, as venomously as he could.

Sullivan looked surprised. "It wasn't deadly?"

Sullivan had _assumed_ it was. Assumed he was a killer. The realization stung.

"No." Randall's throat tightened again, and he coughed into his hand. He looked down and was shocked to see blood on his palm. Shifting it quickly from Sullivan's sight, he looked up. "At least, that's what the research suggested. We didn't know for sure." He swallowed. Once again, it didn't quite seem good enough, once it was out of his mouth. "And then _you _came in and screwed everything up for everyone," he added, anxious to get back on comfortable ground.

Sullivan bristled slightly. "Well, it could have killed her!"

"So what?" he snapped. "One human. Compare that to the only real hope we had of solving the energy crisis." It was the logic he'd used on himself, during the making of the extractor.

"We've solved the energy crisis. There's another way. One that doesn't involve killing," Sullivan said pointedly.

Randall let out a swift breath of derisive amusement. "Really. Enlighten me." The goddam rug was lying now, he was sure of it. Winding him up, trying to fool him.

Sullivan gave him a deadpan, serious look. "Laughter," he said simply, "laughter. Children's laughter is ten times more powerful than scream. We have laughers, now, instead of scarers. The energy crisis is over."

Randall raised an eye ridge, though it sent bursts of pain through his bruised and beaten forhead. His third eye was beginning to leak straight through the bandage. "Laughers. Do you think I'm a total idiot?"

"I'm serious. Ask the doctor, if you want. It's a lot riskier than scaring, because it takes longer, but it really works. Took a couple weeks for me and Mike to convince the stockholders to change it, but now..." Sullivan petered off, apparently noticing the look of utter scepticism on Randall's face.

The nurse, Muruthi, who had been waiting patiently in the corner, cleared her throat. "It's true. Mr. Sullivan runs the company now. They did a documantary on the new power on television; you could ask anybody."

Randall's emerald eyes opened wide. It was true, then.

_And Sullivan really _IS _the CEO._

"Oh, isn't that just friggin' _perfect_," he said aloud, throwing his head down on the pillows in exhasperation. "You guys actually _benefit_ from this whole mess, and _I _get banished?" He coughed again, tasting blood. "Not to mention I get the shit beaten out of me."

He could see Sullivan looking uneasy out of the corner of his eye. More of that uncomfortable look, the one that seemed like, but couldn't have been, guilt.

Sullivan took a deep breath. "Sorry." He seemed to be gaining confidence. "We don't... _actually _need you to convict Waternoose; he's already in prison. We just realized it wasn't ...right... to leave you there."

To his own surprise Randall let out a short, barking laugh- one entirely unhappy and without any humour. "You _did_, did you? Bit late, don't you think? You might have thought of that one before you launched me into that Goddamned ----ing trailer! Do you have _any idea_...?" There was no proper end to the sentence. Nor was there need for one. Sullivan looked as if he'd been punched.

Sullivan swallowed. "It was wrong, I know. I'm sorry." he looked down.

Randall, still looking up at the ceiling, scoffed. He'd been apologized to only three times in his life, and not once had it ever been sincere. He doubted that was about to change. "Sure you are. Go to hell, Sullivan," he said coldly, eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling.

Sullivan was silent for several seconds. Then he turned away. There was a slight creak as the door opened.

A small pause. "I am," Sullivan said at last. Then there was a small click, and he was gone.

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Well, there's another chapter up. Please read and review if you want this to be more than four chapters long; I'm really stuck, but maybe a nice long review full of suggestions and criticism will help me get on track again.

Flames will be used to make tasty, tasty coffee.

Love ya all!

Till My Head Falls Off


	3. Unfinished

Back again! Sorry I didn't update yesterday, guys and ladies. Social calendar got in the way. I'm not very fond of this chapter, really. Constructive crit. needed!

Disclaimer: I own only Tzeitel and Alexx, and Dr. Peters or whatever I decided to use for his name, I guess. The rest is not mine.

On witta show!

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Chapter Three

Unfinished

_I took her hand, but it was not in matrimony  
I told my side, but it was never testimony_

_I'd say an ounce of prevention  
Is worth a pound of attention span_

_I played along, but it was not for recreation  
I left my home, but it was not evacuation  
I made a pact that I would finish what I started  
I admit the fact, I was distracted and outsmarted_

_Everything is unfin-"__  
-Barenaked Ladies, Unfinished_

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Sulley pulled the door closed behind him, his eyes on the ground.

"Don't worry, Mr. Sullivan, sir, as you can see we have him well taken care of," said the Doctor, "Would you like a report on his injuries sent to you?"

Sulley nodded vaguely, not really listening. "Uh, sure."

"And speaking for our board of directors, sir, I'd just like to thank you for that particularly generous energy price reduction. It's saved many lives. We need every penny we can get, sir." The Doctor gave him a meaningful look.

"Huh? Oh, I'm, uh, glad it was useful," Sulley replied halfheartedly.

The Doctor shook his paw very hard and smiled. "I'll have that injury report sent to you personally just as soon as we can compile it properly."

"Yes. Thank you." Sulley extracted his paw from the Doctor's tentacles, turning away. He felt wretched.

The machine hadn't been deadly. Necessarily. And Randall had done everything he could to make it safe. But he'd been willing to sacrifice Boo to make sure it worked. Which wasn't right.

That wasn't so hard to get used to. It just pushed Randall up half a notch in his estimation. But it wasn't that that unsettled him.

He closed his eyes briefly. Randall, lying limp on the hospital bed, bandages plastered thick over the bruises that ran up and down his sides. Randall, lying sprawled in the dirt in the middle of an empty forest, the gash in his forhead leaking clear fluid. He couldn't get the images out of his head.

On the scare floor, Randall had always tried to be tough, unbeatable, not caring about anything but the thrill of victory. Everything had been other people's fault, not his. Sulley had not been the better scarer, simply the luckier. He'd never needed help with anything, and if he couldn't do it it wasn't worth doing.

And Randall had never once taken a day off, had never once even admitted to feeling lousy. Not even on that one day when they'd all been forced to work six hours overtime to replenish the power after a huge blackout. Everyone else had moaned and nursed their aching feet; he'd simply knocked back about twenty cups of coffee and yelled at Fungus all the more.

He'd hated appearing weak, vulnerable. He'd avoided it at all costs, as if people would judge him for it.

The thought made Sulley strangely sad. It was difficult to fathom, but he actually felt a little sorry for him.

He hailed a taxi. Twenty minutes later he was back in Monsters Inc., walking the long hallway that led to his office.

He slipped through the door, and was immediately met with Mike's mildly impatient face. He raised a paw. "Hey."

Mike raised his brow. "What took ya so long, buddy?"

Sulley scratched his neck uncomfortably. "Randall woke up."

"Really? Didja tell him he's a rotten scumbag who's lucky you're such a softy?"

Sulley sighed. "No, I told him... what's changed, and why we came to get him, and that I'm sorry."

From the look on Mike's face, Sulley might well have just informed him that the moon was actually just somebody's leftover pie tin. "...What?"

"I told him the truth. That I'm sorry we banished him, that it wasn't right...and...well, that's about it, really." He rubbed his neck, embarrased.

Mike gestured frantically in the air. "Sull, are you _nuts_? Do you have any idea- He's never gonna let you forget it now. You practically gave him blackmail material! That creep's bound to use it agaist us!"

"I don't think so; he didn't even believe me," Sulley said calmly, in an effort to placate him.

Mike looked up. "Didn't believe what?"

"Didn't believe that I'm really sorry."

He looked mildly surprised, but folded his arms in satisfaction. "Good. Not like you had anything to apologize for in the first place."

Sulley sighed. "We've been over this, Mike."

"Yeah, yeah." Mike waved on hand noncommitally and turned to leave.

The door closed with a click, and Sulley rubbed a paw over his eyes. He had to do something to help Randall. And this would be so much harder without Mike.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Randall stared at the door and shivered. Sullivan had to be lying. Had to be.

Even if he had looked sencere...

He let out a short, hurt breath. He'd fallen for this kind of trick too many times as a kid to trust an apology.

The nurse, Muruthi, looked over at him. "You alright?"

"Fine," he sneered.

She scowled right back. "You're not a nice person, are you?"

"Should I be?" he countered.

"Were you coughing up blood earlier?" she asked abruptly.

Randall's eyes widened. How had she known? To his own annoyance, he knew he'd have to tell her if he wanted to be out of hospital sooner rather than later. "Yeah," he admitted.

"Damn. That's bad." She grabbed vials of medication from a table near his foot. "Oh, bastarding bastard, I'm going to have to get Dr. Speciesist Asshole in here again. He has to know." She paused, hitting upon an idea. "Wait a minute. How about I do the full injury report now and then page him? Saves everybody time, and we get to see less of him."

"Sounds good," Randall muttered.

"Okay then. Try to sit up. Don't if you think you'll hurt yourself, though. Obviously."

Wincing, Randall tried to push himself up into a sitting position, his one useable arm almost buckling under the pressure. "Good enough?" he gasped, annoyed at himself for looking so weak.

"That's plenty." She flicked four long, elegant, red-brown fronds away from her face and carefully peeled off the fluid-soaked bandage on the center of his forhead. With her other hand, she laid two fingers over his leaking third eye and pressed very slightly.

It sent spires of pain through his head and behind his eyes. "Sorry about that," she murmured. "Hm. Bruised and lacerated. Are you... good at blending?" she asked, oddly cautious.

"Perfect at it," he said with a hint of pride.

"You're lucky. But can you blend right now?" She asked, fingers still over his third eye.

"Not if you're covering my third eye," he said irritably.

She pulled her hands away, a moment of unsureness flashing through her sharp-tongued confidence. "Oh- I'm sorry."

He scowled, oddly reassured by her lapse. "It might not work. It did before, but not the time before that." Setting his face, he concentrated, shifting colours.

"Close," she said, "Your wall colour's a little off."

Randall let out a brief explative. "Not again! That keeps happening!"

She cocked her head, a look of curiousity in her tawny red-brown eyes. "What does it feel like?"

He shrugged, surprised. "All burny and hot. Clogged up."

"No, no. Not right now. Normally. How does it feel when it works?"

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. "You're a lizard monster, in case you haven't noticed. Ask yourself."

An emotion he couldn't quite name flicked across her face. She raised a hand to her forhead. "Underdeveloped third eye. No background colour detection and limited heat vision. I can't blend," she said somberly.

Randall suddenly recalled her comment about how he was lucky he could blend. Imagining what it would be like to be without his ability, he grimaced at his own mistake. "...Oh. Sorry," he said, looking straight ahead so he wouldn't have to meet her eyes.

"That's okay. It's common among coldbloods; mine's just worse than most." She brushed her fronds aside again. "I'm Tzeitel, by the way. Last name Muruthi, like you heard."

"Tzeitel Muruthi..." he tried the name out. It had a nice feel to it. "Am I pronouncing that right?"

She grinned wryly. "You're one of the first."

He shrugged, as much as his aching shoulders would allow. "I'll try to remember." He stuck out his one good hand. "I'm Randall Boggs."

She took the offered hand. "Pleased to meet'cha, Randall Boggs. Quick question, though- Why were you being apologized to by the CEO of Monsters Inc.?"

The scowl slipped back on his face. "None of your business," he muttered, coughing into his hand. No blood this time, but still the sharp, metallic taste of it.

"Come on, I told you about my third eye. You don't think that's a sensetive topic?"

He sighed. "Alright, alright, fine. But it's a long, stupid story."

She examined a deep cut on his shoulder. "You talk, and I'll examine you."

"Fine." He bit his lip, unsure of where to start. He wasn't even sure why he was telling her, really. He'd look stupid. But... she was right that she'd trusted him about her eye, and after that, he felt he owed her something.

"I used to work at Monsters Inc. I was the second-best scarer there..."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tzeitel Muruthi hung her coat on its peg, collapsing with a groan into her very comfiest armchair. Her feet hurt.

She was starving; otherwise she might have simply fallen asleep right there. Groaning again, she got up and slithered to her flat's tiny kitchen.

She flopped onto one of the kitchen chairs, though it was much less comfortable than the armchair, and chewed vaguely on some leftover rice while she waited for the chicken to cook. She was usually an enthusiastic cook, but now she was too tired to care. Ignoring the flavourlessness of the white rice, she thought back on her day.

A name stuck in her mind. Randall Boggs. The new patient. A reptile, like her.

He confused her. He was... guarded, unfriendly, caustic, bitter...

But she didn't dislike him. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was a bit of an enigma. He'd been sorry about her third eye, truly stuck his foot in his mouth. He hadn't complained every time she'd caused him the slightest bit of pain like most patients did. He'd been almost chivalrous about it all.

Sure, he was hard to get along with if you weren't ready to give as good as you got, but he was smart. That was fairly rare, it seemed to her. True, he was prideful, but it wasn't in that idiotic was she so detested in which the monster had themselves fooled and nobody else. She didn't really mind his veriety of pride, in fact. On one level, Tzeitel knew, she was the same way. It was the sort of pride that came from being the only creature within a hundred-mile radius who wasn't stupidly contented with his boring little hole of a life.

He was sort of cute, too, in an angry way. Big green eyes that spoke more emotion than everything else about him combined. If he pulled through, he'd be fairly attractive. Tzeitel knew she had no chance, but the idea still sent a little shiver down her spine as she realized she'd be his nurse for another two weeks at least. Plenty of time to see if her first impression had been correct.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was late evening, and Randall was alone.

Tzeitel had left for the night. There was another nurse on call if his heart rate changed hugely or anything like that, but for the time being, he was completely alone.

He was used to being alone. Solitude had always been an escape of sorts for him. But it had been nice to talk to Tzeitel, while she was here...

For one thing, she'd been a distraction. Now he had none, unless you wanted to count the steady flow of some painkiller or other that was sweeping over him, and a question was niggling at his slightly foggy mind. _Was Sullivan telling the truth?_

His better judgement screamed no. It shouted at him not to trust somebody like Sullivan. That he was being an idiot and that it would only lead to humiliation.

And yet...

He didn't know.

Something in him wanted to believe him. Something saw the sencerity in Sullivan's eyes, the guilt that had flashed briefly over his face. And it _wanted_ to believe him.

Maybe it was the painkillers talking. He felt warm and fuzzy and lightheaded. He suspected this was some of the last even vaguely lucid time he'd have left for a while; Tzeitel had warned him that he'd get worse before he got better.

Shifting over onto his side so that he wasn't putting pressure on the bruises on his back, Randall tried to think rationally, clearing his head of the morphine-induced fug. Sullivan was a wimp and a suck-up, but Randall had never really seen him as a liar. What was more, he'd gone a fair way towards humiliating himself in the apology. Surely he wouldn't be doing all that just for a joke, or a scheme, or whatever it was he might have needed Randall for.

Besides, what was the worst that could really happen? Surely he didn't care what Sullivan and Wazowski thought. And they couldn't exactly attempt to arrest him or anything like that, unless they wanted to be arrested themselves for banishing him illegally.

His eyelids were beginning to feel warm and heavy, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stay conscious for much longer. _I know_, he said to himself at last, _I'll just pretend I don't believe him. If he's really sorry, he'll have to keep saying he is. He'll be pretty much at my mercy._

Randall fell asleep with a small smirk in his lips.

The next few days were a blur. Tzeitel came in every day; he remembered that, and while they spoke often, about little things, little of what she actually said sunk in. Most of his time seemed to be spent in a foggy daze. There were times when he felt hot, or cold, or nothing at all.

There were times, in those few days, or maybe weeks, or years, or hours, when he wondered if he was dying. And times when he wondered if anyone, least of all Sullivan, would care.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Boss, there's a letter for you from the Hospital."

Sulley looked up. "Huh?"

Alexx tossed him the letter. Sulley caught it in a one paw and tore it open. It was Randall's injury report, he knew. He'd been expecting it earlier- It had been three days since they'd brought Randall back. He'd tried to keep himself from thinking about it too much, but it was hard not to worry.

He slipped a claw into the envelope and pulled out a sheet of thin blue paper covered in close type.

_Diagnostic Report/ patient 3847877/ Boggs, Randall_

_Species: Reptilian_

_Age: 25_

_Birth date: 27/ 09/ 76_

_Hight: 12'3 ( full length)_

_Weight: 186 (underweight)_

_Health Card no. 1Z7 5H6 DI_

_Case Doctor: F. Stevens, M.D._

_Case nurse: T. Muruthi_

_Diagnosis: Simple fractures to top left, and bottom right arms; complex fracture to bottom left arm (partially healed- has been re-set); severe head trauma causing bruising, laceration and mild infection to the parietal gland (third eye- affects blending ability); fractured seventh left rib; severe chest and lung infection; sprained top right ankle; mild bacterial poisoning; multiple bruisings and lacerations on chest, arms, upper and lower back, and tail; malnutrition; severe bruising on right shoulder._

_Status: Critical_

Sulley swallowed and folded the note back into the torn envelope.

It was worse than he'd thought. Critical. That meant there was a chance Randall might... not survive.

_No. Don't think like that._ Guilt pounded through his head. Randall would survive. He had to. He was tough. He'd make it. Sulley didn't think he could live with a death on his conscience.

He had to go and see him, he realized. He had to make sure Randall at least knew somebody wanted him to recover. At least so he would feel like he was actually doing something to help, instead of just dumping him in a hospital and leaving.

"Alexx?" he called, "I'm going out for a bit. There's something I have to do. I'll be back this afternoon, okay?"

"Gotcha, Boss. I'll hold your calls."

Sulley pulled off his tie and tidied the papers on his desk. Then he took the back door out of Monsters Inc.

He paced up the main street, placing one huge paw over his face. He sighed. Randall would be angry he'd come. He knew that. The idea of facing him again made a horrified lump of hard guilt settle firmly in his throat. Especially when he knew there was a chance of...

Randall had every right to hate him, really.

Sulley took a deep breath and pushed through the main hospital doors. The thing that bothered him most about it, now that he'd had some time to think, was that he simply didn't know what he _thought_. He knew he was in the wrong, for throwing Randall out illegally. The guilt of it clawed at his mind. But surely Randall deserved a certain amount of the blame. After all, it was him who'd built the extractor and started this whole mess in the first place. On Waternoose's orders, admittedly, but still.

And yet he couldn't bring himself to hate Randall. It would have made things much easier, but he just couldn't. He'd done the lizard monster a great deal of harm, almost all of which, whatever Mike said, had been undeserved. And there were moments, those weird moments of weakness from Randall that made him seem more monsterish, less of a perfect villain, in which Sulley... couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

He took the elevator up to the floor and stopped at the visiting desk. Visiting hours were almost over, but he had a few minutes.

Taking a long, deep breath, he rapped gently on the door. "C'min," said a female voice, and for half a second he thought he had the wrong room. Then he realized it was the lizard-monster nurse, from a few days ago, and opened the door.

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There you go! Sorry that took so long. Reviews and critisime adored and needed.

Flames will be used to heat my coffee. Unless I'm making iced coffee. In which case I will simply go to my old standard and reply with a snooty, subtly insulting reply.

Love you all!

Till My Head Falls Off


	4. Memo to Human Resources

Back again! I'm sorry to say that this is the last chapter I have pre-written. If my muse does not return very soon, I'll likely have to leave it here. However, the more reviews I recieve, the more likely musey-boy is to return (hint hint).

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the dusty lint under my dresser. Well, actually, it's my mom's dresser.

On with the show, because you can cry all night and your heart can be breakin', but the show must go on!

I believe I stole that line from Doctor Who. In any case...

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Chapter four

Memo to human resources

_"I'll be in the back, and I don't need the help  
__I'm good here in the back  
I'm good all by myself  
I'm busy taking stock of all the things that I forgot  
And making mental notes of just exactly where I lost the plot_

_I stuck around too long feeling sorry for myself  
A disinvited guest rifles through the bathroom shelf  
I'm searching for some disbelief that I can still suspend  
But never mind the furthermore- the plea is self-defense again_

_Then the people came to talk me down  
And I got some advice  
Then the people came to talk me down  
But I don't need advice-I'm down_

_Later in my car I considered what you said  
I'm good here in my car  
I'm good with what you said  
And I'd be shouting out to you but I was mighty hoarse  
Talk you through the finer points and issues much too small to force_

_Then the people came to talk me down  
And I got some advice  
Then the people came to talk me down  
But I don't need advice-I'm down."_

_-Memo to Human Resources, They Might Be Giants_

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Sulley had to withhold a gasp.

The figure on the hospital bed barely even looked like Randall anymore. He'd been shocked when they'd found him half-dead in the swamp, but this... this was worse.

His scales were dull, closer to grey than to their usual violet. He was just as thin as before, the lines of each rib visible through his skin. His entire bony legth was a patchwork of bluish bruises and stark white bandages.

_Did I do this to him?_

His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be asleep. But he was moving slightly, shifting and turning in a restless slumber. A thin sheen of sweat had formed on his face.

The reptilian nurse slithered over to Sulley, smiling wryly. "Hey," she said coolly.

Sulley cast another anxious glance at Randall. "H-how's he doing?" he asked hesitantly.

She grimaced slightly. "Not too great. He's running a fever; we still can't get him cooled down. He won't get any real sleep till we do." She sighed.

Sulley looked briefly at his feet. "Do you... do you think he's gonna make it?" he asked in a small voice.

The nurse nodded, smiling. "Well, it won't be easy but... yes, I think so."

He sagged in relief. "Oh- Good," he said in a breath.

She cocked her head, her fronds flipping to one side. "So, why were you so concerned?"

"Uh-" Sulley paused, casting about for an answer that didn't sound idiotic, "It-it was sort of my fault," he admitted, in a low whisper, "And he still doesn't believe I'm sorry."

She raised her brow. "So you _are_ sorry?"

He nodded.

She smiled, showing pointed, snow-white teeth that reminded him unpleasantly of Randall's. "I'll tell him that when he's next lucid." Her tawny eyes flicked to the figure on the bed. "Which won't be for a day or two at least, I'm afraid." She flashed that same smile, kinder and more sheepish than Randall's had ever been, but still oddly familiar-looking.

Sulley scratched his neck. "So when should I come by again?"

She looked down, chewing her lip. "I'd say maybe in three days. He ought to at least be awake by then. And hopefully lucid, too, since we can probably lower the painkiller drip. I'm his case nurse, by the way- My name's Tzeitel." She looked up at him again, an odd look in her eyes.

"Pleased to meet you," he said hesitantly, still acutely aware of the odd look she was giving him.

"Mind if I ask you something, Mr. Sullivan?" Tzeitel said suddenly, narrowing her eyes slightly.

Sulley nodded again, uneasy. "Uh, sure."

"Is it true about the kid and the Scream Extractor and the swamp? Randall told me about it, but you don't seem like the kind of guy he made you out to be."

He mm'ed in agreement. "We've had this running rivalry over the past few years... He sort of hates me."

Tzeitel nodded. "Yeah, he mentioned that. He also called you a 'spineless, hypocritical fur rug'," she added with a puzzled, apologetic grin, "but I assumed that was just him being him."

"Hypocritical...?" Sulley murmered to himself. The other two bits, he understood, but that one he was less sure of.

"Yeah," she shrugged, "Don't take it seriously."

He nodded slightly.

"Actually," she continued, "you're being incredibly nice to come by in the first place. Nobody else has." she smiled, her Randall-like teeth contrasting oddly with the gentleness in her face. "He's a real jerk about it sometimes, sure, but it does make a difference."

"Well, I'll be coming by whenever I can," Sulley assured her, suddenly a little afraid. There was nobody to make that difference but him.

Unless...

A look of hopeful determination spread across his face. "I think I have to go now. I'll be back in a few days."

Tzeitel smiled. "Thanks for stopping in."

Nodding vaguely in reply, Sulley yanked the door open and hurried out.

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Mike glanced at the file in his hand. A three-year-old. Good. Just be very silly and he'd have no problems.

He passed the file to his assistant and carefully attatched a sock to each of his twin horns. "Right. Let's do this," he murmured, in his traditional I'm-pretending-I'm-a-secret-agent way. Then he yanked the door open and rushed through.

Less than twenty seconds later he waltzed out, his laugh canister doubtlessly full and his mood high. As such, he was not expecting to see a very serious-looking Sulley standing directly in front of him.

"What's up, Sull?" he asked, unnerved by his friend's expression but unwilling to let it show.

"I have to talk to you for a minute. Could you come to my office?"

Mike nodded warily, casting an affirming look to his assistant and following Sulley's fast-paced lead.

--------------------

"So wha'd you want to talk to me about?" Mike asked in a mildly concerned tone.

"Randall," Sulley said abruptly.

Mike looked suddenly wary, and Sulley knew with a jolt that he wasn't going to take this right. "What's going on?"

Sulley sighed deeply and slapped the paper the hospital had sent him down onto the desk. "You might want to read that."

Mike said nothing, merely unfolding the page. As he read it, his quizzical expression slowly but surely changed to uneasy. "Wow," he muttered at last, "I guess this isn't good."

Sulley shook his head. "They aren't sure he's going to live."

Mike's eyes widened, and for half a second, he looked almost scared. Then he swallowed. "Well, there's not much we can do about it, right?"

Sulley could see he was trying to get out of the situation, shift the responsability away from himself. "We're going to visit him," he said firmly, though he knew how Mike would react. "It makes a difference. It really does."

Mike scoffed. "Yeah, maybe for us normal mons. But he hates us! Why would he even want us there?"

Sulley sighed. "Well, think about it this way. I'm his only visitor so far. How'd you like it if you were stuck in a hospital and nobody at _all _cared enough to come visit you?"

"It's his own fault nobody likes him," Mike snapped.

"Yeah, maybe, but it's our fault he's in the hospital. Come on, please. You know you ought to," Sulley added, trying to keep his tone gentle but still firm.

Mike threw up his hands, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Alright, alright! Fine! You win! I'll go with you next time. But my official position is still against this, so if something crazy happens..."

"Yeah, yeah. It'll all be my fault."

"Good. Can I go now?" Mike asked, voice thick with put-upon sufferance.

Sulley grinned dryly. "Yeah, go ahead."

The green cyclops turned on his heel. "_Thank_ you."

Sulley watched his friend struggle to reach the office doorknob with a look of amusement. Mike had really ruined his dramatic exit. But Sulley knew he wasn't nearly as annoyed as he wanted to seem. Mike would help him through fire and water if he asked the right way, he knew.

A sudden thought came to him. "And Mike?" he said hurriedly, stopping his friend just as the door creaked open.

Mike turned slightly. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

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Randall's head felt oddly fuzzy.

His eyes cracked open. What time was it? He felt like he'd slept a long time. Had he missed the early morning again? That was the only time hunting was ever any good. He was _starving_...

Wait a minute. No he wasn't.

And the light above him was all wrong for the swamp. Too clean. And he was surrounded by soft, warm white sheets. And he didn't hurt half so much.

_Oh, right. Sullivan. The hospital. Tzeitel. _He shook his head to clear away the fuzz, remembering the more pleasant reality he'd been introduced to... how long ago?

He opened his eyes all the way, the lights blurring and streaking his vision. "Ugh... What time is it?"

Tzeitel's warm face appeared before him. "Eleven-Fifteen in the morning, November the twentieth."

Randall blinked and rubbed at his eyes, taking in his surroudings. The room hadn't changed at all. The only thing present that even vaguely interested him was Tzeitel.

He'd failed to notice her features at first. Her face had seemed so dazzling, after days of alligators and humans and mud, that he'd been unable to observe anything else. But now he could see that she was not actually quite as stunning as he'd first thought. She was... odd-looking. Her cocoa-brown colouration, unglamourous and generally considered somewhat plain for a lizard monster, was admittedly a nice combination with her tawny eyes and unusually curly fronds. But her face was wider than normal, cheekbones broader and her eyes deeper-set. In fact, she was just about the opposite of what was considered conventionally attractive in reptiles: neither slim, nor straight-fronded, nor brightly coloured. But she seemed to pull it off, in a way.

She caught his eye, and he glanced away quickly, afraid that she'd noticed him staring.

His eye fell to his arms. Most of the bandages had been taken off, and all that was left were three casts and a few new scars. "Exactly _how_ long have I been asleep?" he asked, puzzled.

She smiled wryly. "About three days. You were in and out a lot of that time, but you won't remember that." She reached out a hand to help him sit up. "Now's the first time you've really been sober in three days, anyway."

Randall somehow managed to avoid swatting away her assistance, merely giving her a look of annoyance that she woud suggest he needed help.

She rolled her eyes, lifting him up by his shoulders. "Don't give me that look, you jerk. If you don't want help just say so." She grunted slightly. "Wow, you're light."

He scowled, unsure of whether the comment had been an idle observation or a medical note. "So... eh, anything happen while I was... out?"

Tzeitel scratched her long, sweeping fronds in thought. "Sullivan came in again. Not much else."

He gave her a mildly disbelieving look, hiding his shock. "He did?"

"Yeah," she said matter-of-factly, "and _you're a jerk_."

Randall rolled his eyes. "Huh. How do you figure?" he asked sarcastically.

"Would it kill you to trust people?"

To his own surprise, the words bit. _Trust_. What good had trust ever been to him?

He folded his usable arm over the top cast, lips twitching in an involuntary scowl. "I trust people," he sneered defensively, "just not him."

Which wasn't true. He did believe Sullivan was sorry, sort of... but he didn't trust _her_ enough to tell her so. Still, it felt sort of wrong to lie to her.

She rolled her eyes. "Then you're making a mistake. Try."

He turned away slightly, letting out a breath of half-faked disinterest. "Whatever."

Tzeitel seemed to understand that the conversation was over, but she would not leave him be. "How do you feel?"

He shrugged. "Uh... better than before, I guess."

"You should, after the last few days." She rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic breath. "We only got your fever to break about eight hours ago. You've still got a bit of a temperature, and the meds aren't having quite the effect we might have hoped for on your third eye."

Randall glanced upwards, as if he could see his own forehead if he looked the right way. He couldn't, but he could feel his third eye throbbing. "So it's still infected?"

"Yup.You probably won't be able to really blend for a bit. And according to my boss, I'm not even supposed to be talking to you right now," she added with a dry grin, "so count yourself lucky I like to flount his authority."

He snickered appreciatively. Tzeitel hated her boss almost the way he hated Sullivan. "Why aren't you supposed to talk to me?"

"Something about not distracting myself from my duties. He's just antagonizing me." She waved a hand dully.

Randall could sympathize with that, anyway. "Why? Because you're a reptile?"

Tzeitel made a face. "I thought that, but yesterday I noticed there's another lizard nurse, and he's not horrible to her." She smirked. "Even though she's a moron who can't tell Rifampin from Pennecillin. I'm the only competant nurse around here, and he's got to give _me_ the crap."

Randall was about to reply when something by the door that looked like an intercom unit, which he hadn't even noticed before, emitted a squawk of static. The burst was followed by a voice.

_"Muruthi?" _asked the voice, pronouncing her name right, _"It you in there?"_

Tzeitel crossed to the intercom and hit a small switch. "Be a little professional, Jess," she said with a sigh of friendly exhasperation.

_"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Look, there's some visitors for Randall Boggs- it's the guys who brought him in. Do you want me to send them in?"_

She looked over at him. He shook his head frantically, praying she'd understand. _No. Make them go away. _Sullivan alone had been bad enough. And now Wazowski was there too.

Tzeitel caught his eye. Then she grinned schemingly and turned back to the intercom. Randall could almost hear the words even before they left her smirking mouth.

"Sure."

She winked at him.

He buried his face in his hand.

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Mike looked irritated and uncomfortable. But at least he'd agreed to come.

Sulley had made him promise not to start yelling or hurling accusations or anything else aggressive, and he was fairly sure Mike would stand by the promise. But in truth, he was beginning to wonder if having him come at all might have been a bad idea.

Too late now.

The secretary nurse opened the hospital door, smiling at them. "Go on in."

Sulley went first, Mike following with sulking steps.

Randall looked better than he had before by a fair bit. His scales were back to their normal colour, or near to it, and most of the bandages were gone. He looked up at them, irritation and defiance flashing across his face.

"Why are you two here?" he asked coolly. Sulley felt a wave of relief. Randall wasn't going to die. On the contrary, his personality was most definately alive and kicking them in the crotch. Sulley couldn't imagine him dying now.

From the corner, where she was filling out paperwork, the nurse Tzeitel gave the lizard monster a dirty look.

Sulley took a deep breath. Now for the hard bit. He had to act in a way that would show he was truly sorry, but with enough authority that Randall wouldn't trample all over him, and he had to keep Mike from doing anything stupid as well. No mean feat.

"You know why. Because part of this was our fault," he said firmly, for both Randall's benefit and Mike's. Mike shot him a dirty look worse than the one Tzeitel had given Randall.

Randall's emerald eyes flicked to Mike and he let out a scoff of amusement. "And you thought bringing the eyeball would convince me?"

Mike bristled visibly, stepping forward and folding his arms defensively. "He didn't _bring_ me- I wanted to come!"

This was such a barefaced lie that Sulley almost wanted to laugh. But the atmosphere was too hostile for anything more joyous than Randall's short, derisive chuckles. Which were completely without joy.

Randall raised his eye ridges in an expression of perfect dibelief. "Uh huh. Why is that, exactly?" he asked in a deceptively pleasant tone, showing all his teeth.

Sully could see Mike was struggling for an answer. "Because- I came to make sure you wouldn't try anything!"

Randall stiffened slightly, scoffing again, but this time there was a hurt edge to it that Sulley hadn't expected. "What am I gonna try?" he asked, his voice sarcastic and derisive. "In case you haven't noticed..." He gestured down to his ransacked frame, lip curling, a mocking scowl on his face. But Sulley could see by his eyes that it wasn't all mocking.

Sulley let out a silent breath of disappointment. Mike just had to start it- barely two minutes in, and he'd already managed to suggest that Randall was completely untrustworthy. And what was more, the remark seemed to have struck a nerve in the lizard monster. Sulley knew Randall would have killed him for thinking such a thought, but all the same...

"Never mind," he said firmly, trying to shift the conversation away, "How are you doing?"

"What do you care?" Randall snapped, though there was not nearly as much venom as there had been before in his voice.

Sulley tried for a rebuking, we've-been-through-this look. He didn't think it had worked, but Randall sighed and shrugged.

"Not bad, for somebody who's been stuck in a Louisiana swamp for a month," he said with a dry smirk.

Mike frowned. "I thought Louisiana was supposed to be friendly."

Randall grinned, rolling his eyes. "You really gotta get your information from somewhere other than Louis Clawstrong songs, Wazowski."

"Hey, shut up! He's a Jazz legend!" Mike said defensively, for once without agression.

"Well yeah, of course he is, he's one of the greats, but that doesn't mean he was right about everything!" Randall insisted, an incredulous grin forming on his fever-paled face. "Although actually, I could live without him. He's a bit cartoonish."

Sulley tapped his jaw. "Well, I still like him, but you have a point there. I guess I sorta prefer BB Thing."

"Oh, by far. I'm more partial to cool Jazz, really..."

Mike sputtered. "But... Clawstrong wrote Mack the Knife! Come on!"

_"Clawstrong didn't write that!"_

By some miracle of chance and taste, they managed to continue debating Jazz/ Blues legends, and nobody accused or insulted anybody with vicious intent for a good ten minutes.

It was the closest thing they'd had to a friendly conversation since... well, ever.

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Well, dere ya go. That's all I have. Reviews are always hugely appreciated. You know how it goes. Critisme, suggestions, random things the chapter reminds you of... Anything to recapture my muse! I'm dyin' here!

Thanks, peeps. Flames will be used for illuminating Wazowski's perception of Jazz. Gawsh.

Love ya all! For special bonus points, tell me who Louis Clawstrong and BB Thing are supposed to be. And who _really_ wrote Mack the Knife.

Till My Head falls Off


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